


Sleeping Awake

by AmelieofK



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Crime, Junbobficsparty2019, M/M, Thriller, free - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 15:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17769491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmelieofK/pseuds/AmelieofK
Summary: A slew of murders were happening across the country. In the middle of the desert, a man comes out of his car for escape and a smoke. A kid wets his bed even when he is no longer a kid.





	Sleeping Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 of the JunBobFicsParty2019 Challenge (Theme : Free)

He exited the car, closing it with a rage he could barely contain. The sun was up high, yet it burned the desert with its unwavering heat. The sound of a match being lit and the scent of burning sulphur. He lit a stick of cigarette and the boy waved a hand across his face.

“That thing will kill us someday.” The boy muttered lazily, an arm, the same one that had waved the hand hanging out of the Cadillac.

“I thought you were going to sleep.” He commented dryly, inhaling the tobacco deep into his lungs. The boy hacked a cough, as if his throat was burning.

“How to sleep with that smell in my nose?” He complained loudly. He squinted his eyes against the sun, exhaling out the fumes, adding heat to his throat. The boy complained too much, but he had gotten used to it. He was loud, noisy and had no filter, but he could not blame the boy. It was a defensive mechanism. He had grown up in an atmosphere where his opinions had not mattered, where he was constantly being told to shut his trap. Every chance he got, he wanted to be heard, hence his loudness.

“Shut the fuck up and sleep.” He countered, voice low enough to make it a warning. The boy listened to him this time and for that he was thankful. He did not listen well most days, but today he somehow did.

He was thinking hard. About where to ditch the car and the still warm body in the trunk. It was hard to think in all this heat and he was running out of options. Maybe driving again might help, he heard the boy’s voice in his mind.

_Ah~this boy was annoying._

Even when he was supposedly sleeping, that deep, husky voice haunted him. The boy was only two years younger than him, but he was a giant baby. He still cried himself to sleep, still wets the bed sometimes and would probably get himself into a lot of trouble if Bobby had not been around him.

_The body. You were contemplating what to do with it. And the car._

He finished the cigarette, threw the stub to the ground, letting it burn itself to death. Burn itself to death. His tiny eyes lighted keenly at the thought. Hmm, the boy might be annoying, but he definitely was a lifesaver. He got back in and glanced at the rearview mirror. The boy was curled up against the backseat, snoring softly.

He smiled, and then took out the notebook that was in the breast pocket of his neatly ironed blouse. He slid the pen out from between the hardcover of the notebook and clicked it, reading through the names that had been crossed out.

“Let’s see, we are done with Mister Wade. Who’s next? Ah, Doctor Janice Darcy. Our last name. Next stop, Las Vegas. “ Bobby muttered under his breath and drove out of the desert to find signs of life. He hated waking up the boy, but the car and the body had to go. As much as having a vehicle was convenient, it would only cause them trouble in the long run.

As the adult, Bobby recognised that. The boy had been petulant and moody at having to wake up. He remained quiet after peeing, standing beside Bobby as he burned the car and its lifeless occupant. He remained quiet when the eloping couple had stopped for them en route to Las Vegas. They did not question much about the fact that the boy was practically singing throughout the ride. He had the most beautiful and angelic voice, even if all he had on his playlist were church favourites like ‘Amazing Grace’ , ‘The Lord Is My Shepherd’, his voice was definitely pleasant to the ears, touching even.

Later, when everything had died down and the reporters were clamouring her for an interview, she recalled that he had the saddest smile she had ever seen as well. Las Vegas was a new and exciting place. Bobby could barely keep the boy in check, he wanted to run everywhere. He marvelled loudly at the musical fountains, clapping his hands as the sprays of water danced to the classical music playing in the background. He wanted to play the slots and Bobby had to drag him away from the blinking lights of the machines, trying to explain that these were not arcade games and that playing here required more money than they had with them.

The boy had smiled gleefully and Bobby had sighed, realising that he needed a cigarette as well.

“I know how to get money, hyung. Just give me ten minutes, please.” He begged. Bobby did not want to believe his sorry ass. The boy had gotten him into enough trouble anyway at their last rendezvous. He had walked in on Bobby as he was tightening the rope around Trevor Wade’s thick neck in the sports store. Bobby had managed to sneak in as the man was locking up, between smoking one cigarette watching, waiting, Bobby had ran to the store feigning, leaving behind his wallet and wanted to look for it.

It was Wade’s shift tonight. He had known this after scouting the place for almost two weeks. He knew it was the only night he would get the bastard alone.

“Junhoe, the fuck you doing here?” Bobby had gasped, putting his weight onto Wade’s hulking frame, his breath still fuming with the ashy smell of his cigarette stick long gone. Wade had grown older and his strength was diminishing, but Junhoe suddenly appearing had almost made Bobby release the tight hold he had around Wade’s neck.

“I wanted to watch.” Junhoe had said softly, head cocked, gazing into Wade’s eyes. As usual, Junhoe’s tears were falling even as he looked and Bobby hated that. Wade’s struggles became stronger at the sight of Junhoe and it almost threw Bobby off balance.

“Junhoe, I told you. You don’t have to be here.” Bobby explained, anger taking over, hating that Junhoe had to relive all his pain whenever he had to face the people who made his childhood miserable and made him the way he was. Junhoe was too innocent to be hurt in such a vile manner and that thought alone could make Bobby go berserk. His hands that had laced the rope so tautly around Wade’s neck, twisted the rope further even as Bobby’s tears filtered through his crescent eyes, hot and salty as the muffled choke from the dying man filled the darkened store.

When Wade breathed his last, Junhoe had retreated, as if remembering who Wade was, legs skipping backwards, bum skidding across the floor, his cries becoming somewhat of a lament and Bobby held him, wishing he would forget.

“It was him, hyung. It was him. He was the one who held me down on the bed, hyung.” Junhoe had whispered softly, breaths coming out in ragged, uncontrollable whistles, eyes red and mirroring the nightmare that was being played once more in his head.

“Sssh, sssh, it’s fine. He’s gone, he won’t ever come to you again. I promise.” Bobby promised, caressing Junhoe’s fine hair between his fingers, knowing he was the only one who could avenge the torment the boy had faced as a child.

Junhoe, who laughs easily over Saturday morning cartoons and poured milk first before his cereal, because for some reason, soggy cereals frightened him and he would rather hit his head on the wall than be forced to eat them. Junhoe, who only had Bobby to protect him. This same Junhoe was also adept at picking pockets and haversacks, because his childhood had been nothing, but a series of misadventures and misfortunes. This same Junhoe, who ten minutes later, had pilfered enough to get them lodgings at some cheap motel slightly off Sunset Strip and had enough leftover for even a dinner of fries and burgers as he sat in front of the TV blankly while the Roadrunner get the best of Wile E.Coyote for the nth time.

Bobby had glanced at the newspaper he had bought together with dinner. The headlines were all about a string of murders that seem to have the same modus operandi across the states and that police suspected they were the work of the same man. The world was full of murders and injustice. No one was there when Junhoe’s childhood was murdered in the orphanage he had been abandoned in. No one had stopped the officers working in the orphanage from allowing the doctors do all the unspeakable things that had caused Junhoe to wet his bed, even in adulthood on certain days. No one had had been there when Junhoe was held down and subjected to physical and sexual abuse as a child by these same officers and doctors, a nightmare which continued for him as he goes through his adult life sometimes as a child and sometimes cowering in fear of human interaction. He would not even let Bobby comfort him.

Bobby had discovered him as a teenager, living on the streets, using his sharp good looks to turn tricks or steal from his customers. It was from one of these customers that Bobby had saved him from that fateful night. The man had forced himself on Junhoe, taking him hard against the brick wall behind the dumpster and had refused to pay, spitting on him as he sat there crying softly. Bobby, who had happened to pass by after a smoke, had heard Junhoe’s soft, pitiful cries, had walked towards the sound just in time to see the man pulling Junhoe by the hair and about to kick him the gut. He had instinctively grabbed onto a loose brick that had fallen off from the wall and had hit the perpetrator hard on the head. He had slid limp and lifeless onto the ground and Junhoe had cringed, still sobbing afraid that he would be hurt next. Bobby had assured him that no one would hurt him any longer and they had been on the road ever since, with Bobby listing the names of all the people, who had been directly involved with hurting Junhoe.

“Tell me about Darcy, Junhoe.” Bobby asked now, not laughing at the TV, where Roadrunner just went ‘meep-meeped’ as the anvil came into contact with poor Willy’s head. Junhoe sat hypnotised by the lights. There was ketchup by the side of his lips and Bobby took a tissue to wipe it surreptitiously.

“She touched me.” Junhoe began, tears already culminating as he recounted, fries forgotten between his fingers. “She pulled my pants down, hyung. I remember peeing, because it was cold and she slapped me, hyung. She said I would pay for peeing on her doctor’s coat and then she…” Junhoe continued, immersed in the memory. He would probably pee tonight, but Bobby would clean it right up. He understood completely. He was probably the only one who understood the price that needed to be paid. Bobby had done his research as well.

Janice Darcy might have retired as a doctor. She never married and she had done volunteer work in so many third world countries. Third world countries were like paradise for sick minds like hers. Doctors were trusted and parents are more than willing to let her attend to their children without too many questions, even more so since she is a woman. She was even given the Medal of Honour for her volunteer work. Bobby wondered how many children she had abused. She was volunteering as a doctor at a few Vegas shelters. Some shelters housed single parent families with kids, who were young and equally unsuspecting.

Bobby hummed ‘Amazing Grace’ as he broke into the house. His voice was not as beautiful as Junhoe’s, so he hummed. He overpowered Darcy easily and she was now lying on the dining table of her nice two-storey house trussed up like the Thanksgiving turkey. Junhoe saw her swimming pool and had asked Bobby if he could swim in it. Bobby promised him they could if he slept first. He said it was important for Junhoe to sleep now.

“It’s because you don’t want me to see you killing her, right, hyung?” Junhoe had enthused so confidently, scratching the back of his head. Darcy had struggled against Bobby as he pinned her against the full mirrored wall, down the corridor leading to her dining room. It was a typical suburban dining room that hid a hideous and most reviled monster in the shape of a stoic, dignified doctor. Bobby had nodded, tying her tightly and throwing her easily onto the teakwood dining table. Bobby took out a cigarette and Junhoe, who had been admiring his reflection in the mirror gazed at Bobby, rolling his eyes at the sight of the unlighted stick on his lips.

“Go to sleep, Junhoe. I’ll wake you up when it’s over.”

“She’s last on the list, hyung.” Junhoe declared now. There was nothing happy in his deep and husky voice. Just the stating of facts which checked out. “I want her to eat soggy cereal, hyung.” Junhoe requested softly. “She used to call me into her office while the other orphans were having breakfast. She used to call me and touched me for so long, that when I returned back to the breakfast table, I had to eat soggy cereal.” Junhoe interjected, eyes blankly looking at Darcy from the mirror.

She was crying, or probably trying to scream through the gag Bobby had stuffed into her mouth.

“Here, we don’t waste food, you worm! We eat what we are given and do what we are told!” Junhoe screamed into the mirror, the veins in his neck almost popping as he did so, his voice exactly like Rudy West, one of the orphanage officers, who had been Darcy’s second in command and the first few officers, who had been overpowered and strangled. His body was found just a week ago curled up in a fetal position, naked and whipped marks on his back. Bobby had anchored Darcy to the table now as Junhoe took off his shirt. Darcy screamed through her gag. Junhoe’s porcelain shoulders, smooth as silk, was hideously marred by embossed lines at the back. Lines that criss-crossed because Rudy used to whip him on his back on Darcy’s table as another officer, Jake Tully had his way with Junhoe. Darcy had watched, a smile on her lips. She had paid particular attention to Junhoe, because of his beautiful skin and fine features. Bobby did not care much for Junhoe screaming. The house was on private property and tonight was the housekeeper’s day off.

Jake Tully had been the first one to go. He was found in a park, strangled. The coroner had declared later on that strangulation had not been the cause of his death. His exsanguination was caused by a crowbar that had been forcefully rammed into his back. He had bled internally. The strangulation had seem to be done in afterthought, the coroner had declared later on after losing most of his lunch on that day.

Junhoe poured milk into the bowl Bobby had passed to him and poured out Honey Stars until it filled the bowl. Bobby had opened the gag only after making sure Darcy would not scream.

“Bobby.” She gasped loudly, her voice haggard and desperate. Junhoe was weeping softly now, tears cascading in an unending tide of unspoken sorrow. ”Why are you doing this? You don’t have to do this…” She cajoled him, trying to wriggle free from the ropes that bound her, but Bobby had done an impeccable job tying her. Junhoe shook his head in denial, pointing to the mirror.

“I’m not the one doing this. He is.” Junhoe cried, slowly crashing to the floor in unspeakable pain. Darcy was trying to arched her back, trying to look behind her at Bobby, begging for her life. Bobby lit a cigarette, slowly inhaling and then exhaling, waiting. When the cereal turned soggy, he started feeding spoonfuls of it into Darcy’s mouth. She gagged and cried, begging, but Bobby did not stop, not even when the milk had started spraying from her mouth and flakes of Honey Star remnants flew into the mirror, sticking to the surface with trills of milk that looked like tears. How long did Bobby do it and then had strangled Darcy until she lay slumped on the dining table, no longer alive? Junhoe could barely tell, he was barely awake to witness the final moments of his nightmare being put to rest.

The sun was coming up and the rays hit the mirror then refracted into a brilliant prism of colours as Bobby woke the sleeping boy up, still humming ‘Amazing Grace’ under his breath as he cleaned up.

 

~

 

**Epilogue**

The cops were eyeing him skeptically. He could practically read and then write footnotes on what they were thinking as he walked passed their desks and introduced himself to the captain of the precinct. His parents had not sent him for criminology studies in Austria for naught. They always look at those who worked for the Bureau with disdain, what more a young upcoming quack like him.

Young, brash and confident, Doctor Ezra Kim was most notably famous for his brilliant thesis on criminal personalities and genetic make up. He believed that most criminals lack of remorse for the crimes they committed stemmed from their inability to gauge right and wrong the way a normal person would. There was a fundamental lack of common sense and absolute responsibility. A trait he discovered was most likely displayed by criminals who had split or multiple personalities.

The captain handed him a brown report file, filled with the notes his homicide detectives had compiled together. Ezra knew very well what was in that report even though he had not read it yet. The subject on the file was currently sitting in interrogation room number two, slouched on the metal chair that was bolted to the ground, his feet and hands bound by chains that was tethered to the locks on the chair itself. Ezra had another file in his hand. A red coloured one and one which he now placed on top of the brown one the captain had just handed to him.

“Has he asked for anything yet?” Ezra enquired, looking closely at the monitors that showed the layout of the interrogation room from the top.

“Nope.” The captain expressed in utter frustration. “He did regal us with ‘Amazing Grace’ and then some operatic crap, when we left him to grab a quick lunch.” He added, a smirk now plastered on his lips. “I told him with a voice like that, he could have auditioned for X Factor and maybe become a superstar. He giggled and actually asked me if he stood a chance.” The captain announced in disbelief. “He’s completely loco.”

The captain declared now. Ezra flipped through the red files and stopped at a particular page, scanning through it, lips shut tightly in concentration.

“The IQ test we did on him indicated that he has the mental capacity of a six-year old, sir. Have you ever met a six-year old who was crazy?” Ezra intoned solemnly. The captain’s gaze flitted slowly from Ezra’s back to the homicide detectives, who had been trying to interview the murderer since he walked in to confess yesterday morning who rolled their eyes. Ezra could not care less what they thought of him. He had one job and one job to do and that was to profile this serial killer and find out exactly why and how he committed the murders.

The press had dubbed him the ‘The Hidden Strangler’ for the multiple ways he had killed his victims and had tried to pass it off as strangulation.

“Well, I did break my arm after falling from a tree at age six.” The captain was commenting dryly now as the detectives chuckled at his wittiness and what Ezra perceived to be ignorance on their part.

“La Traviata.” Ezra informed the captain.

“What? Sorry, I don’t get it.” The captain, a veteran of the force for almost fifteen years now, who never fired a shot in his life and would probably retire without ever being promoted to any other higher post than the one he currently held, gazed at Ezra as if he had gone as bonkers as the kid in interrogation room two.

“That operatic crap he had regaled you with.” Ezra stated, “’The Drinking Song’ as it is roughly known to the uncouth layman.” Ezra relayed most informatively. “He’s no mere six year old, Captain Terry. This one is probably extremely talented if not for the fact that he had had a very traumatic experience as a child.” He added. “Was there anything found in his possession when he surrendered?” He asked, looking through the notes once more.

“Here.” One of the detectives had said, passing him a ziplock bag filled with ticket stubs, a receipt from a gas station and an opened pack of cigarettes. Ezra’s eyes lighted keenly at one of the contents.

“Can I take the pack of smokes?” He asked, pointing to the slightly crumpled pack of Marlboros. The detectives and the captain gazed at the doctor quizzically. “I just have a theory.” Ezra was saying almost to himself as he took out the pack and held it tightly in his hands. He stood up. “Is the camera turned on?” He inquired and the captain nodded wondering what the psychiatrist had in mind. “Watch this, gentleman.” He whispered solemnly and entered the interrogation room. The boy had rested his head on his arm, wanting to fall asleep, but Bobby was resting now, so he had to function.

He sat up when he heard the door. The man walking in wore a blouse very much like the one Bobby likes to wear, except it was pinstriped and was not fully buttoned to the collar. He looked solemn, but smiled brightly the moment Junhoe glance in his direction, showing off dimples that ran deep into his cheeks and the eyes beneath the circular-rims of his glasses were sparkly and kind.

“You are not a policeman.” Junhoe announced, almost cheerily. He looked tired though. He really wanted to sleep, but Bobby would not let him.

“No, I’m not. My name is Doctor Kim Donghyuk. Just for the record, would you mind giving me your full name, please?” He asked kindly.

“My name is Bobby Koo Junhoe.” He stated without hesitation. “But you can call me Junhoe.” He added. “What kind of a doctor are you? Doctor Darcy was a doctor, but she was not a good kind of doctor.” He whispered now and then mumbled something under his breath that was inaudible.

“Sorry, I can’t hear you.” Ezra asked, still smiling, standing beside the desk. Junhoe looked up at him, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“I said Doctor Darcy was not a good doctor and Bobby told me not to trust doctors.” He said, voice overly loud. Ezra sat from across him and slid something across the table. It was a pack of cigarettes and it now sat in the middle of the table, between them, like some unspoken witness to a crime. Junhoe waved a hand over his nose. “Ugh. Nasty stuff.” His face was scrunched up like a child being told to eat his vegetables. “Bobby likes it so much, but it makes me cough a lot. Bobby says it helps him to think. Bobby won’t let me sleep.” He was sounding slightly whiny now, rubbing his eyes and yawning profusely.

“Well, please tell Bobby that if he wakes up now, I’ll let him have a stick.” Ezra countered calmly, knowing that these next few minutes was imperative in proving his theory about the ‘The Hidden Strangler’ serial killer. Junhoe nodded sleepily and closed his eyes. Ezra leaned over and pushed the crumpled pack of smokes closer to the sleeping boy.

Moments later, he sat up straight, crossed his legs, his eyes squinting looking in front of him, hands grabbing the pack of cigarettes and placing one precariously between thin, unsmiling lips. Ezra knew immediately that Junhoe was no longer in the room with him.

“Boy says you want to talk to me?” He drawled, his voice, a raspy tone slightly softer than Junhoe. The cigarette dangled at the edge of his lips and it did not seem to bother him at all that it remained unlighted.

“Yes, for the record, can you please state your full name and age please?” Ezra asked, glancing at the camera on the wall, knowing that by now, the captain and his detectives were probably standing outside, mouths opened in shock.

“Bobby Koo. I am twenty-three.” He stated, pushing his fringe back, sitting even straighter.

“Where did you grow up, Bobby?” Ezra asked, resting his arms on the table.

“Virginia, Fairfax. Eccleston Orphanage.” He stated, arms folded, the cigarette moving up and down as he spoke.

“That was not the name you had back then, Bobby. What was your birth name?” Ezra pushed gently. Underneath the table, he could discern Bobby tapping his knees to regulate his emotions.

“It’s Bobby. Everyone called me Bobby since I was a kid.” He insisted, looking slightly impatient now.

“When was Bobby born?” Ezra asked again, his voice soothing, calming. Bobby began to whimper, the cigarette falling onto the table.

“Fuck off, boy. I got this.” Bobby countered defensively, Junhoe wanted out but Bobby was not going to let that happen.

“But…it’s not my fault!” Junhoe shouted, he sounded upset.

“Sleep it off. I said I got this.” Bobby countered gently.

Ezra was truly amazed by this tug of war that seem to be happening in front of him. It was not his first time handling cases where there were multiple personalities in one person. Contrary to popular belief, the dominant personality was not normally the strongest. The dominant would be the one who has general control over the rest, because he had been appointed the protector. But the dominant is also the one born out of necessity. Ezra had initially thought Bobby was the dominant one…all signs were now pointing otherwise.

“Let me speak to Junhoe.” Ezra requested now. Bobby had the cigarette between his fingers again, he let it rolled to his palm and crushed the cigarette in it.

“Junhoe is sleeping.” Bobby declared, gritting his teeth.

“Let me talk, hyung.” Junhoe surfaced, not sounding tired at all.

“NO!” Bobby screamed, standing up and hitting the table.

Ezra could sense scattered activity from behind the closed door and he put his hand up in the camera’s direction. That no one came barging in told him that the captain was being compliant.

“Hyung, I got it.” Junhoe returned, sitting down calm as a pond, the smile on his lips mirroring a serenity that seem almost contrived. He rested an elbow on the table, chin against the palm, gazing at Ezra a little bit more closely.

“Junhoe, when were you born?” Ezra asked now.

“Me?” Junhoe asked, placing the bent cigarette on the table and pushing it towards Ezra. “Me and Bobby, we share the same birthday, but he’s two years older than me.” Junhoe stated, drumming his fingers on the table. Ezra glanced at the folder. It stated that the abuse Bobby had experienced as child started when he was eight, but the IQ test indicated that Junhoe’s capacity was that of a six year old. Ezra sat up, alert and amazed all at once. He had initially thought that Junhoe had surfaced due to the abuse, but judging by the current circumstance, Junhoe had become a dominant personality way before.

Bobby had created Junhoe as a filler to his abandonment; an imagined void that he wanted to protect. Yet, it also meant that they endured the abuse together. Junhoe’s childishness had played a huge part in their survival in the streets but every time Junhoe got hurt, Bobby would surface to ‘take care of him’.

“Whose idea was it to go after the people who hurt you?” Ezra asked, because this was the most important question of all. It would determine all the murders that had been committed.

“Me.” Junhoe said, but an uncertain look passed over his face. He had written the list, because there was no way he could have forgotten the names of those who had hurt him. Bobby had seen the list and had thought that Junhoe wanted him to go after them. It was probably the worst case of misunderstanding to ever happen between two split personalities, who are unaware of each other’s intentions. “I didn’t want him to go after them.” Junhoe was sobbing now. “I just wanted to forget everything, but Bobby…” He cried, tears spilling down the smooth cheeks.

“Bobby wanted to take care of you, but it was you who took care of him all along.” Ezra surmised in the silence of the room, broken only by Junhoe’s sobs. Ezra realised the magnitude of the situation. The split was equal in proportion. Even though Junhoe was born out of necessity, Bobby as the adult took it upon himself to look after Junhoe as well, despite all they had faced together.

 

**END**


End file.
